Sunday, November 14, 2010

deconstruction of reconstruction

When you are trying to remake yourself it’s vitally important to have a some type of a plan.

I’m very fond of plans.

Then again, so was Hitler . . . and we know how that ended for him, now don’t we.

It is said - I forget who said it though - that the only way to succeed is to fail as quickly as possible at something and then move on.

I’ve been so much less stressed the past year it’s hard to not sit back and smile at every opportunity and not strive to fail.

Like right now, behind the screen of my machine as I type away for my readership of two.

But what is success through failure anyhow, and how does one really achieve it?

Well, this ability is part of the inner you, or at least I think so. If you can look in the mirror and say to yourself, truthfully I might add, that you are doing well, then who else is around to contradict you? Who else really has the right, or knows your inner you better than your inner you after all?

Far too often we give in to peer pressures or the opinions of others when we should only be listening to what is going on inside our own skulls.

If you’ve had any kind of “normal” - yeah, bad choice or words but fitting - upbringing then you likely have a good grasp of identifying right from wrong and how to behave in a civilized society.

I’ve always put my immediate family first when it comes to any sort of priority scale. In this I have succeeded wonderfully. In fact, my no-longer-cube-squatting is a direct result of that choice. I always believed, and still do, that if you are going to have children, then you damn well better look after them and not pawn the job off to others.

Maybe I’m a control freak then?

You know who else was . . . um, never mind.

Let’s just say for the next while, with family first, I’m going to be exploring some creative options and see what comes of it.

Not painting though.

Just don’t do well with that.

Audio, video and written works are much more up my alley.

So, watch me go as I learn to fail faster than a speeding bullet, leaping tall things and moving mountains . . . or something.

Until next Sunday . . .

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